Wordsworth's Daffodils

Far away over meadows, fields and hills
Or through oak woodland which is ever sweet;
Seeking out Wordsworth's golden daffodils.

Early morning, amid the dewy chills
Where a dawn kissed grassland moistens the feet
Far away over meadows, fields and hills.

A perfumed carpet your raw sense it fills
With a yellow trumpeted aspect replete
Seeking out Wordsworth's golden daffodils.

And by the noon, as mid-day sunlight spills,
I wander onward down a floral street
Far away over meadows, fields and hills.

By farmstead ruins and old water mills
Where sheep now dwell and brightly bleat and eat,
Seeking out Wordsworth's golden daffodils.

So, the land where the poet whet his skills
I walk at springtime in nature's elite.
Far away over meadows, fields and hills
Seeking out Wordsworth's golden daffodils.